“They left three days ago,” Lye says. “I managed to get around them as they slept and arrive here ahead of them. We might have two days, but it could be less. They were running hard.”
It’s all my fault. I led them right to us. I hid the truth of my stupidity from the very people who coulda done something about it. My heart’s as hard as stone, cracking and crumbling away. “What do we do?” I ask.
Wilde meets each pair of eyes in the tent. “We fight,” she says.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Fighting against friends, where the victor extends a hand to help the loser up at the end, is one thing. Fighting to the death is another.
But that’s what we’ll do. Not just for our freedom from the oppressive Laws that my father stands for, but for each other, for ourselves. For those we’ve lost: for me, Circ and my mother.
To the death.
With his typical arrogance, my father’ll expect to catch us by surprise. That’s our advantage. So we’ll play into it, pretend to be caught unawares, with our britches down so to speak. Really we’ll be ready, with tricks a-plenty up our sleeves.
By Lye’s estimation, he only brought fifty Hunters with him, less’n half our numbers. Again, his arrogance playing right into our hands. Either he doesn’t realize how many we have, or he thinks he’ll crush us like a powder moth under his treads.
Our turf. Ours. We’ll let him come to us.
We expect the Hunters to appear at dawn over the horizon, running at full tilt, heavily armored and equipped. Instead, they come at dusk.
After a long day of preparation, we’ve just sat down to eat, when the scouts run into the camp, preceded only by their shouts. “They’re here!” they yell. “The Hunters are here!” A shiver passes through me. The night air is warm.
Silence. First everyone stares at the scouts, who are panting, their elbows on their knees, fear in their eyes. If we look at them long enough maybe they’ll disappear like a bad dream. Eventually though, reality sets in. This is happening. All heads turn to Wilde, who stands, her unfinished meal in her hands. “Prepare for war,” she says.
Chaos ensues and I find myself walking aimlessly ’round the camp, my legs like lead, my head in the clouds. This can’t be happening. So soon after escaping him, my father has hunted me down to bring me back. And not only me—everyone. My fault. Mine alone.
Skye grabs my hand, but I don’t respond. “Siena!” she screams, right in my face. I say nothing. She clamps her fingers ’round my cheeks, squeezes, forces me to look into her eyes. My sister’s eyes, the same but different. “Do you see the fear?” she asks.
I see only fire. I shake my head.
“Follow me,” she says.
She leads me to one of the elevated caves, the one I shoulda gone to as soon as the command was given, with the other archers. I may not be a sharpshooter yet, but Wilde thought I’d be more effective here’n on the ground. The rest of the markswomen already have their satchels of pointers strapped to their backs. Skye helps me with mine.
“I can’t do—” I start to say.
“Yes. You can,” Skye says. “Do it for Circ.”
A cheap shot, but just what I need. If it wasn’t for my father Circ wouldn’t be dead. He sent him on that mission on purpose, ’cause it was dangerous. ’Cause of me. I won’t let him take more of my friends. I won’t.
I nod. Skye leaves, gone to join t’other warriors.
~~~
My heart pounds. Sweat pools in the small of my back. My muscles ache from a month of training, but feel stronger’n ever. Revenge burns in my chest.
From my elevated vantage point I can see the entire camp. Skye and t’other warriors sit ’round the still-burning fire, eating and joking and carrying on as if nothing is different. An act for the Hunters.
My eyes dart to the canyon entrance, which dances with flickers from the fire. Shadows play on the walls, making me tense up. I relax when I realize no one’s there. Breathe, I think, forcing the air in and out of my lungs.
Beside me, a dozen other archers wait as I do.
A Hunter creeps through the entrance, bow drawn, pointer strung. Aimed at the warriors ’round the fire. Aimed at Skye, who, along with t’others, pretends not to see the intruder. I want to let my pointer fly, but when I glance at our lead archer, she don’t give the signal. As planned, we hafta wait till more Hunters are in sight. Skye could be dead by then. My jaw clenches so tightly it hurts.
Six more Hunters flank the first, pointers nocked and at the ready. An almost imperceptible shake of the head from our leader. Not time.
The first Hunter says in a booming voice, “By order of the Greynotes, you are our prisoners!”
Skye and t’others jump up, as if they’re caught unawares. They raise their hands above their heads, as if to say, “No threat here!”
“Where are the others?” the Hunter says.
Brione answers. “In the tents, sleepin’. We’re early risers ’ere.”
Even in the darkening night, I can see the Hunter’s smile, lit up by the firelight. An easy victory. He’ll be rewarded by my father. He whistles, high and loud. A signal. All clear. Clean up time.
Dozens of Hunters pour into the canyon, wielding spears and blades and bows. I’m surprised to see Hawk stride in with them. He almost looks uncomfortable, his face twisted, like he’s got a prickler stuck up his bum. A far cry from the confident new Hunter I saw ’fore.
Then he comes. At the back of the pack, protected by five guards. My father, hate-faced and narrow-eyed. After the Killer attack, it’ll be a much needed victory for him. At least that’s what he’s thinking, what he’s telling himself. We’re thinking something else.
Our lead archer gives the signal.
Magnificently coordinated, the other lead archers tucked in the cave-pocked canyon walls give the signal, too, and suddenly the air is full of pointers. Hunters fall, pierced and bleeding. Other Hunters, including Hawk, drop to the ground, on their bellies or to one knee, to avoid the pointers flying overhead. “Trap!” one of the Hunters yells, as if someone really needs to point it out.
My pointer is still aimed and I realize I haven’t shot it. I’ve just been watching in morbid fascination as my Wilde sisters do the durty work for me. Sliding my hands, I try to find a target. A pointer zips past, narrowly missing my shoulder and clattering off the stone wall. A group of Hunter archers have spotted us and are shooting into the cave mouth. A girl beside me cries out as she’s hit. She slumps over and I can’t take my eyes off her. Without checking, I know. She was dead ’fore she hit the ground. Pointer through the heart. There’s blood. So much blood. I can’t…I can’t…my chest is tight and my throat’s closing and I can’t do this, not any of it.
“Target the archers,” the lead cries, and I close my eyes, try to get a grip on myself. Sky’s down there. I hafta help her the best I can from up here.
I swivel back, locate an archer, release a pointer. Twang! A misfire; my pointer tumbles end over end like an injured bird, dropping harmlessly in front of the archers. A Skye-worthy mouthful of curses tumbles from between my lips as I grab another pointer.
One of my Wilde sisters takes out one of the archers. Three more pointers sail through the cave entrance, two connecting. Not flesh wounds. Death wounds. My sisters are dying ’round me.
I aim and fire. Too high. My muscles are too tense, I can’t get a rhythm like I can on the shooting range when there’s no one trying to kill me and my friends. When the targets are just targets and not people, not shooting back at you.